Who wants to be a Siddh?
by ahlade
Summary: someone who can exercise caution in the face of emotion, who can choose inaction in the face of a display of personal power… somebody who is strong enough to yield the strength of the Siddh.’


'This is Siddh Magic, Miss Granger, not some idle extra credit essay. If you are unable to make the commitment of will and action it needs, I suggest you stop wasting our time and yours.' Professor Snape was at his most menacing, and Hermione felt at that moment the pull of admitting defeat.

It would be so easy; all she had to do was pick up the ashes lying around the burning fire and throw them on the living flame, thus signifying her willingness to end the penance. Sleep pulled at her eyelids, weighing them down, making her awareness soft and distant, and nothing looked more inviting than the gaping door of her bedroom, and the clean white sheets on her bed. Yet something held her up, tugged at her neck muscles and made them lift her heavy head so that she focussed once again on the flickering flame of her consciousness.

Maybe it was her stubborn Gryffindor courage that reared its head even when her conscious mind wanted nothing but to give up and give into the inviting caress of the deep, or perhaps it was the frizzy-haired, buck-toothed little girl who never ever fit in anywhere and had always to try so bloody hard, to belong, to prove herself, who pushed, small face screwed in concentration, against the onslaught of surrender. And then there was that voice, each syllable an insult, each breath a tangible profession of pureblood supremacy. She'd be damned if she gave in now.

She turned her eyes rigidly away from the Panoptic, through which one of the Faculty kept an unobtrusive eye on her solitary vigil. This was the fourth day, she had spoken not one word since she took the dawn dip in the lake and was transported to this bare chamber carved out by magic from her own bedroom. Nor had she slept, for she had to prepare herself for the first step into the initiation of Siddh magic. She had to extrude the magic from her system, transform it into living flame and keep it alive through the power of consciousness alone, not sleeping or talking for a whole week, thus purifying her magical essence and making herself a vessel worthy of Siddh powers.

Her mind, she realised was a powerful thing indeed, she could keep her jealousy and stubbornness and insecurities in one chamber, while in another she struggled with the weaknesses of her body and the unwavering assault of the senses on her will. In another part of this universe of consciousness, she fought a battle against her greatest fears: doubt and uncertainty, while in yet another sector she felt the unwavering presence of another mind engaged in a similar struggle. This, more than anything else, kept her resolute in her vigil, adamant and persistent.

Siddh magic was powerful magic, elemental and earth-shattering, and could only be channelled by vessels deemed worthy of its charge. The bearing wizards had to be powerful: mentally, magically and physically, and pure: not to have committed crimes, not to have sullied the body that was to bear the magic of the Siddh, and not to have sullied the spirit that was to be one with the powers of the earth. Hermione felt this was ironic, for the other person engaged in the preparatory penance to the first rites of initiation was hardly likely to be a suitable candidate considering the requirements.

She remembered when she had been summoned by Dumbledore that winter evening; the students remaining at Hogwarts were busy in Christmas celebrations, and outside the snow fell in heavy, sound-numbing drifts, cutting off the school from the rest of the world. Spiralling up with the grinding of magical stone, she had been aware of some trepidation, to be summoned without Harry and Ron. Her first concern had been her parents, vulnerable and unaware of the threat that Voldemort posed to them. Yet, when she stepped into the circular room, with its attendant portraits and the full complement of Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape, she felt only excitement, as she faced their grim expressions.

'Miss Granger,' Dumbledore had said, 'how are you?'

She had made the appropriate responses, accepted the customary lemon drop, and turned her full attention to the old man sitting before her. Dumbledore seemed to be weighing his words, while the other two professors appeared to be quite willing to let him do the talking, while sitting and observing her every response.

'What do you know about Siddh magic?' said Dumbledore, at last, seeming to have pondered the question for what seemed an age.

She recalled a dusty tome in the Restricted section, a vague yet intriguing reference and her failed attempts to follow it up. It was one of the few subjects that had successfully thwarted her formidable research skills and academic tenacity.

'Not much,' she answered, brow furrowed, conscious that her forays in to the Restricted section could be called to account by the bat-like professor who was hanging on her every breath.' I know that it is powerful elemental magic, but I don't think there are very many Siddh left in this world, and any tangible references are very hard to find. They seem to be treated as a metaphor rather than actual beings…'

Snape made a snorting sound, even as Dumbledore's twinkle came back into evidence, as Hermione's tongue ran away with her.

'Quite, Miss Granger,' Dumbledore said, 'and this may be because the learning and rites of the Siddh have never been put to paper. They have been transmitted from initiate to initiate by rote only, hence your lack of-- er -- information on them.'

Hermione felt weirdly gratified that her research had not been at fault.

'Well, it seems we know of somebody who will shortly be undertaking the initiation rites into the Siddh this Midsummer's Eve. This, you realise, is very important, considering the current—volatile-- political climate.'

Hermione was hooked by the narrative.

'Who is it? Is it V-Voldemort?' she asked. Voldemort with the added powers of the Siddh would be unconquerable. Her heartbeat seemed to stop, waiting for Dumbledore's reply.

'Fortunately for us, no. Voldemort would dearly have liked to be a Siddh, I am certain, but his dalliance with the Dark Arts has ensured that he is not a suitable candidate. It is someone else, someone who has been prepared since birth for this initiation, someone who will be an invaluable weapon for the side that he chooses to fight on in this war. We have received this information through reliable channels, and we know that we cannot stop the initiation rite.' Dumbledore seemed tired now, as if the burden of telling her the tale had sapped all his strength.

Hermione looked from Dumbledore to Snape, who looked even grimmer than usual.

'Nor can we predict its outcome. If worse comes to worst, we will have to fight a Siddh in this war, and that cannot be allowed. Our only defence, Miss Granger,' the old man said gravely, and Hermione could sense that the coming words were portentous, 'is to have a Siddh on our side too.'

Silence reigned in the circular room, broken only by the whirring of a spindly-legged silver instrument. Even the phoenix on its elaborate perch seemed to be listening.

'Uhm. Do you mean me?' Hermione had always been quick on the uptake.

Dumbledore nodded, apparently glad that she had grasped things so quickly.

'Right,' her brain said, 'I will have to be a Siddh for the side of the light.' She was not dismayed, she had decided long ago in a broken bathroom, that her fate was tied to a scruffy boy with jet black hair and emerald eyes, and this seemed a potent way to help him. Yet, wasn't Harry the better candidate for the initiation rite? Fated rivals, 'neither may live while the other survives' and all that?

Dumbledore seemed to have sensed her question even before she voiced it.

'Of all the young people on the side of light, you seem the most likely to be a successful initiate.' He looked at her with those twinkling eyes, till Hermione could have offered up her life on a platter for him and his kindness.

'Yet there are some things that only you can confirm and thus state both your willingness and eligibility for this rite.' Dumbledore smiled at her, nudging the bowl full of lemon-drops towards her once again.

'Professor, if the rites of the Siddh are not put down on paper, how do you know of the required qualifications? How do you know Harry is not fit? Are you…?'

'No, Miss Granger, I am not one of the Siddh. Know that the rites are revealed to initiates in a manner both mystical and physical. We,' here he gestured towards the other silent figures in the room, are merely temporary repositories of this information, which will be stripped from us once the initiates are accepted into the ranks of the Siddh, or admit defeat after making the attempt.'

'We are all magically bound in this attempt, and are in fact bound not for the side of light, or for the other side; as custodians of the magic on this site, we must accommodate and aid in every way every attempted initiation rite. We cannot discriminate on the basis of the –ah- political leanings of the initiate.'

'I see, so your only hope to counter this is to make sure that there is a Siddh on your side?'

'Yes, someone, Miss Granger, whose allegiance to good and light and justice will not be tainted by the acquisition of enormous power, someone who will be unswervingly upright despite the lure of invincibility, someone who can exercise caution in the face of emotion, who can choose inaction in the face of a display of personal power… somebody who is strong enough to yield the strength of the Siddh.'

'Professor Dumbledore,' Hermione choked out, as the grave words ended, 'I'm not sure I could do all that-- I mean I am hard working and books … and cleverness, I suppose, but that that's astoundingly…noble. And Harry-like. And not at all me. I would have loved to do this for you and everyone, but I am not sure … I could!'

'Do not be mindlessly modest, Miss Granger!' It was Snape who spoke out.

'Blimey, Hermione!' Ron was not exclaiming at her with a mouthful of potatoes only because her news had arrested his forkful half-way to its destination. Harry too, seemed interested, a spark in his eye showing that he was truly a part of the conversation, not just a mindless companion along for the ride. Since the end of fifth year he was prone to slip into periods of depression that manifested itself in a curious remoteness. Nothing would interest him then: not the latest Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, not active DADA, not the chances of the Chudley Canons in the Premiership, not even treacle tart for dessert… But now his eyes glistened with excitement, as he filled Hermione's and his own plate with Shepherd's pie.

'Well, we can't talk about it much you know; I think it's meant to be a secret.' Hermione spoke in a repressing tone, which, predictably, had no impact on Ron, who continued to gesticulate with his fork.

'So you're going to be this powerful mage! Merlin!' He seemed to be struck by something.

'Blimey! You'll be _like_ Merlin!'

'I will not be like Merlin, Ron! There seems to be no evidence to prove that that Merlin was a Siddh. As far as I have gathered from my research, and really as Professor Dumbledore told me, there isn't much to go on there. Just, you know inferences and really vague references. But it seems that most Siddh who attain their full powers also seem to develop a curious detachment with the world. Certainly they do not intervene in muggle affairs, as Merlin was so prone to do. It's almost as if they see the whole picture, the whole vast cosmic canvas, and they wouldn't want to intervene and do something stupid, would they?' Hermione, too was gesturing emphatically now, her hair flying out uncontrollably.

Ron, his face now bulging with the interrupted consignment of starchy foods, stared glassily at her.

'Uh, No?' he said, swallowing.

Harry, however, looked thoughtful, as he too listened attentively. Hermione turned to him and realised her error. She could appreciate how much Harry would like the choice of maintaining status quo, of the warm lassitude of inaction. Seeing the approaching tide of despair in his eyes, she quickly changed the topic.

'Yes, Snape's going to train me, as are the other professors, and some of Dumbledore's friends. Order members, probably. Physical training by Madam Hooch, and there's loads of other stuff. It's very exciting, apart from the risk that if I don't to do everything perfectly, I get blown up into little bits. Oh! And I'm excused from end of year exams!'

Ron choked on the sausage he had just inhaled. Harry began to slap him enthusiastically on the back just as he choked and wheezed his way through one incomprehensible sentence after another.

Hermione simply ate her pie until Ron's face returned to its normal colour.

'N.E.W.T.S, Hermione!' Ron said piteously, as if his entire world had just turned upside down, and Snape had adopted Harry.

'There are more important things than exams, Ron' Hermione said, opening her Advanced Arithmancy text.

'Mental!' the redheaded boy said, and then turned to his best friend. 'What do you think Harry?'


End file.
